Rounds
by Grav
Summary: In which Catherine stages an interrogation, and is pleasantly surprised by the results. Post ep for Crash and Burn. G/S
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: CBS owns CSI. If this is a surprise to you, I recommend reading more fanfiction.  
  
Spoilers: Crash and Burn, baby, Crash and Burn.  
  
A.N. I have never had a beer. I don't know how much beer constitutes a "beer". I don't know how long it takes to drink one. I don't know if bars in the greater Las Vegas serve beer in draft or bottle. Just read and laugh at me later (after you've reviewed!).  
  
This story is somewhat of an experiment. Actually, it's a huge experiment. And I almost got the old Catherine back too.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
"Drive"  
  
~First Round~  
  
"I haven't had that many boy friends." Sara said, putting down her glass. "I could probably count them on my fingers."  
  
"Really?" asked Catherine.  
  
"Science geek in high school, bookworm in college, work-a-holic in the real world." Sara's voice was dry and more than a little sardonic. "That doesn't exactly spell social success."  
  
Catherine said nothing. There wasn't much of a reply to that, except the light hearted one, and she didn't think that this was the time for light hearted. She watched as Sara pulled the cutlery out from the serviette that was wrapped around them. She set out the knife, fork and spoon neatly on the table between the two beers, and spread the serviette out in front of her, flattening it with her fingertips.  
  
There wasn't a lot of noise in the bar. It was more of a pub really, or as close as you can get to a pub in Las Vegas. There was no dance floor, just a dark smoky alcove wherein stood two billiard tables. The tables was were wooden, well made and with no distinguishing marks. The bar itself was had a highly polished surface, and brass piping running along the edge of the counter. The drinks were laid out in what appeared to be alphabetical order by type on the shelves behind. There wasn't a lot of light, but as people don't come to bars to look at each other, that didn't really matter.  
  
Catherine pulled herself up, wondering when she had gotten to the point where the first thing she did upon entering a room was catalogue everything contained within it. Too well trained, she supposed. And there wasn't really anything wrong with that. Sara didn't speak, but alternated between shredding the serviette and drinking her beer until the glass was nearing empty. Catherine had been there, and she knew that when Sara wanted to talk she would. Until then, all Catherine could do was signal the waiter.  
  
~Round Two~  
  
The serviette was reduced to shreds, and Sara had soaked some of the pieces in the sweat that came off her glass. The waiter had thoughtfully brought her another one when he'd replaced her beer, but she hadn't gotten to it yet. Catherine couldn't take it any more. She had to say something, anything to break the silence.  
  
"Always had amicable break ups?" God, what had possessed her to say that.  
  
Sara took a drink and answered slowly, "Yeah. This was sort of amicable. I mean, I didn't kill him."  
  
If it was supposed to be funny, Catherine thought Sara needed to work on her delivery before she took her act on the road.  
  
"I guess I always broke up with people for logistical reasons." Sara said. "I went to college across the country, so that spelled the end of my high school relationship. I went to work across the country from college, so that was gone. I moved again just as I was staring to get settled, and I've only been in Las Vegas long enough to."she cut herself off and took another drink.  
  
Catherine lifted her own glass to cover her smile. She hadn't drank competitively in a while, but she was reasonably certain that she would be able to get Sara to talk long before she herself was too out of it to pose the important questions. There were many kinds of experience.  
  
"This is ridiculous." exclaimed Sara, setting down her glass with a touch more force than was absolutely necessary. "I spent months telling myself, and everyone else for that matter, that he wasn't my boyfriend, and now that he isn't, urgh. This is like the people I laughed at in high school."  
  
"We always want what we don't have Sara." Catherine pointed out ruthlessly. "The question is, do you actually want him, or do you just want him because you can't have him?"  
  
Sara made no answer, settling instead for emptying her glass. Catherine knew she had to walk cleverly here. This was a golden opportunity, too good to waste. The waiter brought Sara her third beer and cleared away the shredded serviette. Sara began to shred the second one, and Catherine wondered if the serviette had a face.  
  
~Round Three~  
  
Sara had reduced the second serviette to pieces, and Catherine decided it was time to strike up the conversation again.  
  
"He's not worth this Sara. He's not worth misery." she knew the words would be in vain, but maybe if Sara heard them soon enough she could avoid some of the grief.  
  
"It was so little. That stupid gym bag, the finger. We didn't exactly get off to a glowing start. Then it was movies. All he ever wanted to do was go to a movie. Never dinner, never a live show, nothing but movies." her voice turned bitter "Maybe he went to movies with me, dinner with her, and shows with someone else."  
  
"That's the spirit Sara. See him for scum. I didn't see, and look at me now." Catherine wasn't sure if that was entirely appropriate, but she didn't think Sara would care.  
  
"I was so mad at Grissom." This was an interesting turn of events. She was doing it all by herself too, without shepherding or guidance. "I pulled up everything for him to come here for an internal investigation, and then he disregarded my report not once, but twice. I mean, I'm glad he did now, but then I was so mad. But I didn't leave him, I didn't leave the lab."  
  
Sara paused for another drink, ran her fingers through the white confetti she had made on the table top.  
  
"I threatened to go you know. Of course you know. The orchid was your idea." That was a surprise, Sara obviously had better people skills than Catherine thought. "And I stayed again. And again, nothing happened. Then, one day when I was abseiling out of a helicopter over a body dump in the desert, I heard an EMT throwing up in the bushes, and I innocently said 'I thought you emergency service guys were tough.' and he looked me up even though I smelled awful, and he made me feel special."  
  
"He's a sleaze Sara. He used you."  
  
"And I used him right back." there was something unfamiliar and more than a little scary in Sara's voice. "Did you notice how Grissom would look whenever Hank was mentioned? God, even Greg liked to rub it in his face. I thought Hank was safe, because all we did was movies, but I guess that wasn't all he was doing, and it wasn't what I wanted at all."  
  
"What do you want Sara?" this was it, this was what Catherine was buying five beers for.  
  
Sara took a drink and licked her lips. Catherine was amazed that, even when she was tipsy, you could still hear the wheels in Sara's mind as they spun, albeit, they sounded a little more off centre than usual.  
  
"I want roller coasters, and Shakespeare and unexpected observations. I want cockroach races and that little quirky half smile. I want over time and classical music. I want those crazy experiments next to my dinner and I never want to smell popcorn again."  
  
She finished her beer, and watched as Catherine asked for the bill, and paid for it. They walked out to the tahoe in silence, Sara had said so much, and Catherine had a lot to process. They drove out of the parking lot and passed the lab, where Sara's car remained in the lot. They drove the streets of Las Vegas until they got to Sara's house, and Catherine dropped her off.  
  
"Will you be OK?" Catherine asked.  
  
"Yeah, I'll be fine." came the reply, not half as garbled as Catherine had been expecting.  
  
"I'll drive you to work tonight." offered Catherine "I'll call before I come."  
  
"You'd better not forget." said Sara with a hint of a smile on her face, the first one Catherine had seen in hours "And don't go telling the boys anything behind my back. I want to see the expressions on their faces just as much as you do."  
  
She turned and walked into the house before Catherine could say anything in reply. Shaking her head, she pulled out of the drive and prepared for the final stretch between lab and home.  
  
The night had been full of surprises, and some of them weren't so bad after all.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
A.N. That was actually fun to write. What did we think? 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I am not in any way responsible for this story. It has a life of it's own, and was requested in reviews. There will be no case, just mush, romance and a nice healthy does of angst. Oh, and I don't own any of it, or profit at all, except my imagination sleeps better.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
~Between~  
  
"He what?!" Warrick yelled, making no attempt to disguise his anger. Nick didn't say anything, settling instead for looking outraged. "I can't believe this."  
  
"Yeah, I think Sara was a little shocked too." Catherine replied. "She didn't cry, but she did drink three beers in a little more than an hour."  
  
"I can't believe this" Warrick said again. "Dammit, Catherine what are we supposed to do?"  
  
"Well, I imagine that between the five of us, we can come up with something suitable." came a voice from the door way. The three of them spun around to find Sara standing there. "Catherine, you were supposed to wait for me."  
  
"Sorry Sara." Nick apologized, "We asked her why she drove you in today, and the story just sort of told itself. Are you OK?"  
  
"I have a splitting headache, and a foul taste in my mouth that a tube of toothpaste didn't cure."  
  
"That's not what I meant."  
  
"I know." she replied, "But if I didn't laugh, I'd end up crying. I feel really stupid."  
  
"It's hardly your fault he's an ass." Nick gave her a quick hug to stop her from talking back. "If he wasn't willing to work on a relationship, he hardly deserves you."  
  
Sara sighed, and they all knew that no one was getting through to her just yet, but they would stick with her until she was through this. The door to the break room opened, and Greg came in. The young man made a beeline for the coffee maker, and quickly began to pour himself a cup. Suddenly, mid pour, he turned to look questioningly at the group.  
  
"Am I missing something?" he asked "Because the tension is so thick in here, I could take a swab and send it to Trace to be analyzed."  
  
"And here I thought that was just your new cologne." Sara replied sarcastically, nodding permission at Catherine, who replayed the story for the lab tech's benefit.  
  
Greg's mandible got further away from the rest of his skull as Catherine spoke, and his eyes flashed with anger. Abandoning his coffee altogether, he gave Sara a pat on the shoulder and sat down on the couch with Nick.  
  
Sara stood up and paced away from them. Nick made as though to stand up and follow her, but Warrick waved him off. Sara's face was contorted with the effort she was putting forth to keep her emotions in check. She reached the counter and Greg's half full coffee mug. Quickly, she picked it up and smashed it into the sink, sending coffee and pottery sherds out in a flurry around her. Her legs gave way, and she sat down in front of the sink and began to cry.  
  
Warrick grabbed Nick and Greg and exited the break room, discreetly closing the door behind them. Catherine cautiously made her way over to Sara, and began to mop up the coffee and pick up the pieces of mug.  
  
"That was Greg's favourite mug." Sara said monotonously. "I can't even keep my misery to myself."  
  
"You mean more than a mug Sara." Catherine said gently. "He won't mind."  
  
Sara disconsolately picked up some of the pieces that had fallen within her arms' reach, and pitched them one by one into the rubbish bin. Catherine noted that Sara had excellent aim. The door opened, and Grissom entered the room with several folders in his hand. Sara leapt to her feet.  
  
Grissom's face went immediately into crime scene mode, and Sara could almost hear the wheels in his mind whirring as he tried to put together what had happened. She didn't see Catherine shake her head at him when he opened his mouth to ask a question.  
  
"Case." he said shortly instead. "House fire on Lake Mead Blvd. Paramedics are already there, but the fire department is almost done.  
  
Even a blind man would have seen Sara stiffen at the mention of paramedics. Grissom's eyebrow raised in question again, but he said nothing.  
  
"I can't Grissom." Sara said, causing him to do a double take. "Put me on another case."  
  
"Catherine would you excuse us please? Take Nick and Warrick and go meet Brass." Grissom asked politely and Catherine squeezed Sara's hand and left. "What's wrong Sara? This is a big case, the type you love working on."  
  
"I just can't face any paramedics right now Grissom."  
  
"Does this have anything to do with that guy from the restaurant?" Grissom asked. Sara nodded, looking away from him. He steered her over to the couch, and sat down beside her. "Tell me."  
  
Two simple words, said with little inflection, but somehow she knew that he would listen and care and fix it if he could. Two simple words, and without the aid of any mind altering substances, Sara found a that a flood gate in her opened, and she told him everything. How chance words over a gym bag in the desert had brought them together, and then a smell and a severed finger had started to take them apart even before anything had really happened. How he had no interest in science, only movies. How she had to act differently around him. How much he had hurt her. It took her a lot more than two words, but he listened patiently, and when she was finished, he handed her a tissue for the tears she hadn't even realized she was crying.  
  
"Dammit Grissom, this is your fault." she concluded, albeit somewhat irrationally. She had expected him to recoil and ask her what on earth she was talking about, but instead he nodded.  
  
"Distraction."  
  
"Yeah, some distraction."  
  
"Hey it was your first try." he said. "I tried coin collection before I got hooked on roller coasters."  
  
She looked at him incredulously. "I never saw you as a numismatist."  
  
"I wasn't a very good one." he admitted sheepishly, "Coins aren't very scientific. I found that they were too far away from my interests. Roller coasters on the other hand are almost pure physics, and the adrenaline rush isn't bad either. Look, the point is Sara, you need something scientific. That's what you're interested in."  
  
"So my distraction can't be too distracting?" she asked for clarity's sake.  
  
"Generally yes."  
  
"Any suggestions?"  
  
Grissom's cell phone rang and he answered it.  
  
"That was O'Reilly" he said. "There's been a body found in one of the casino toilets. Nice and dead, and not in need of medical attention."  
  
Sara smiled for the first time in what felt like hours. "Sounds perfect."  
  
"I'll tell you what." he said as they headed out the door to get their kits. "After this shift, I'll take you on a roller coaster with me. We can try a bunch of distractions until we find one you can stick to."  
  
Her smile grew wider.  
  
* * * * * * * 


	3. Chapter 3

A.N. OK, somehow I have moved from drinking to boxing. They do have rounds in common after all, and I know more about boxing than I do about drinking. Still, this is only the loosest of metaphors.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
~On The Ropes~  
  
He realized almost as soon as he entered the building that this was probably a tactical error. Looking about him, he was suddenly irrationally grateful that he hadn't had to come here alone. That could have been quite painful. He got the feeling it still would be. Everyone seemed to be glaring at him, even people he didn't realize she knew. He hoped his interview wouldn't be with Brass.  
  
Trying to pull himself together, he reminded himself that this was standard procedure. There had been fatalities in a suspicious circs case, and he had moved the body with his resuscitative efforts. He had done this before. All he had to do was sign a statement saying exactly what he had done to the body, and then he could leave.  
  
He didn't think he'd ever been in a longer hall way. Was it usually this long? Did people usually fill the doorways like this? He tried to ignore it, and continued down the hall. He was so busy not observing where he was going, that when he finally turned the corner, he ran smack into a figure coming the other way. Greg Sanders. Oops.  
  
The smile that usually adorned Greg's face was immediately replaced by something that Hank had never seen before, and to be frank, was more than a little intimidated by.  
  
"Sorry Greg." he apologized unconsciously.  
  
The lab tech did not reply, merely brushing past the two EMTs and heading back to his laboratory.  
  
"What was that about?" asked Hank's partner. "Did they find out about what you did to Sara?"  
  
Hank didn't answer, mostly because he didn't have to.  
  
"Oh man, are you ever in trouble." was the somewhat less than comforting exclamation "Do you have any idea what these people are capable of? Did you ever hear what Grissom did to Eddie Willows once? Or Ecklie? They pull for each other man, and that's very scary."  
  
Hank decided that he should probably never come to this building again. He thought it had been bad when Warrick and Nick had ignored him at the scene tonight. He'd rather be ignored than, well, than whatever it was the night shift did to people that pissed them off. Even if they settled for insults, he knew he'd be out of his league. And after all, it wasn't like he didn't deserve it. Still, he hoped to get in and out of here as fast as he possibly could, and hopefully avoid all further contact with night shift regulars.  
  
The two EMTs finally reached the room where they would give their statements. Hank swallowed and found that he had a rather significant lump in his throat. Sitting at the table, ready to interview them and record their statements was none other than Captain Brass himself. Hank felt sick to his stomach, not unlike the first time he had met Sara, but for entirely different reasons. He entered the room first, and took the seat that was farthest away from the homicide detective. Unfortunately, that meant Hank was now sitting directly across from him, and could not innocently avoid eye contact. Maybe he didn't know.  
  
"Armstrong, Pettigrew." Brass acknowledged them. Hank winced. He knew all right. "Tell me about what you did tonight please."  
  
"We arrived on the scene to find the mother unconscious and face down." Hank let his partner talk. "We turned her over, and attempted resuscitation. We left her on her back for the coroner."  
  
Hank listened as Armstrong outlined what they had done for the other four residents of the house, wondering if he would get off the hook without talking. The table in this room, he noted, had a peculiar grainy pattern that was reminiscent of a fine marble. It was obvious upon actually touching the table that it was just a cheap replica. He stopped looking at the table. It was too symbolic, and settled for looking at the reels on the tape recorder instead.  
  
"Pettigrew." said Brass in the tone of a man who was short of temper before he had to repeat himself several times, and was now even shorter. Hank snapped his head up, and his eyes locked with the Captain's. "Do you have anything to add." he said it like Hank was mentally deficient.  
  
"No sir." Hank croaked. "No, that's what happened."  
  
Brass pursed his lips together, like their was something he wished he could say, but couldn't because of the tape recorder. Then, he dismissed them. Hank almost bolted from the room, and let out an explosive breath upon his exit. Armstrong laughed at him. Hank absently wished he was somewhere, anywhere else. Now, he had to traverse the whole hallway again, past all those eyes, under all those glares. He hoped for the umpteenth time since entering the building that all the CSIs were out somewhere else trying to solve a crime, rather than plotting one here.  
  
He rounded the corner where he had run into Greg on his way in, and faced the long hallway. If anything, it seemed longer on the way out than it had on the way in. He gritted his teeth and set out, vaguely aware that Armstrong had out some space between them, as though to signify that he had nothing to do with him. Which was terribly unpartner-like of him, Hank thought, but there was nothing he could do.  
  
Then in a door way half way down the hall, Hank saw them. They were obviously on the way somewhere, it was nearing the end of shift after all. He hoped in vain that they would walk down the hall in front of him and not notice his presence, but then he remembered that these people notice everything.  
  
He was now on the receiving end of perhaps the frostiest glare he had ever seen, but it didn't come from her. She had looked away, and ducked back into the break room. Hank bit his lip, and walked past the night shift supervisor without saying anything. He could feel the glare boring holes in his back as Sara emerged from the break room and she and Grissom followed him down the hall to the doorway. Usually, he would have held the door open for people he knew were behind him, but today, Hank did no such thing.  
  
As soon as he exited the building, Hank felt as though a weight had been lifted on him. He sighed in relief, filled with the joy that comes with survival. Forgetting his past predicament momentarily, he absently looked back over his shoulder.  
  
A different weight settled in his stomach. It was haunting familiar, and something he knew he would never quite be rid of. Burdened by his guilt, Hank Pettigrew got into his car, and drove home.  
  
Alone.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
A.N. So much for a one chapter fic! Roller coasters as soon as the spirit moves me. Hey! Put that ficstick away Anya! I'll be good! 


	4. Chapter 4

A.N. Did anyone else notice that I forgot Hank had a broken wrist? Yeah, I thought I noticed you noticing. Ah well, nobody's perfect. On with The Distraction! Oh, and I have totally given up on the "rounds" part.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
~Coasters~  
  
"Are you sure this thing is safe Grissom?" Sara asked, her voice betraying her uncertainty.  
  
"It's never let me down." he replied, and then decided he should probably say something a little more comforting. "It's a monument to physics Sara, what could possibly go wrong?"  
  
Sara pulled at the restraint that, in just a few minutes, was going to be the only thing between her and the air over greater Las Vegas.  
  
"I'd prefer not to think about it."  
  
He smiled, half at the joke and half with the familiar anticipation that an incipient roller coaster ride always brought on. He was flung slightly forward as the coaster gave its customary pre-start jolt, and then he sat back to enjoy the ride. Sara's hands had released their grip slightly on the bar, and she appeared to be relaxing from what he could tell out of the corner of his eye.  
  
The car rattled along the track as it was pulled up to the high point of the coaster on the conveyer belt. They were in the front of the first car, and so had an unobstructed view of the lights on The Strip when they reached the apex. He saw Sara open her mouth to say something, but whatever it was, it was lost to the wind as they plummeted down the track. He noted that her hands were back to white knuckling the bar.  
  
Exerting effort against the forces of gravity that wanted to render him immobile, Grissom turned his head to the side as far as he could. Her face was contorted, but not with fear. She was smiling, slightly wider than normal because of the g-forces. He found his own smile was increasing well, and it had nothing to do with the pull of gravity. Her hands were no longer white at the knuckle, and it was obvious from the look on her face that she was enjoying herself.  
  
The coaster lurched to a halt, and they exited laughing.  
  
"Well," he said "What do you think?"  
  
"I don't think it can hold me long enough to be a distraction." she answered honestly "But you were right, it was a good place to start."  
  
Her stomach chose the moment of silence that followed her statement to growl rather noisily. She smiled embarrassedly.  
  
"When was the last time you ate?" he asked her.  
  
"About midnight." came the reply after a few moment's thought.  
  
"How about we go and get Chinese and take it somewhere?"  
  
"Somewhere like where?" she asked.  
  
"My house?" he voiced the first thought that came into his head "I have the new issue Forensic Monthly, and there's a great article about making your own print powders in it."  
  
She smiled "Did you submit red creeper?"  
  
"No," he replied, blushing slightly. "but I thought about it."  
  
"All right, Chinese it is."  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Grissom had never quite got the handle of shop sticks. His mother used to tease him, in sign language, while she effortlessly ate her own dinner with the simple wooden sticks. He never understood how she could do it. And he never improved either, despite years of practice since.  
  
Sara pointed that out to him within minutes of when they began eating. She was sitting with one leg tucked underneath her as she ate, and her eyes were on the article she was reading. Still, Grissom knew that he was being observed.  
  
Which was only fair, as he was doing a great deal of observation himself.  
  
He was torn about what he was supposed to feel. Sara had been hurt, but in that hurt, she had been split from him, which meant that, well, Grissom wasn't sure what it meant. And that too was a problem. He dropped an egg roll and it fell on to the floor and rolled across the floor a bit.  
  
Sara bent to retrieve it, even as he did, and their hands brushed together. Sara withdrew slightly, leaving him to pick up his errant food. He tossed it into the rubbish, and attempted to eat the other, determined to save it from its compatriot's fate. Sara began to laugh. God, he'd missed hearing that sound.  
  
"It isn't funny." he said, attempting to sound indignant and failing miserably. She laughed harder. "Sara!"  
  
But it was no use, Sara released her chop sticks, and ceased all premise of reading the article. Sitting on her feet at his own dinner table, she laughed at him until she was red in the face and she was out of breath.  
  
"Why don't you just use a knife and fork?" she asked breathlessly.  
  
"Pride I guess." he answered ruefully "And a deep respect for tradition."  
  
"That's worth sacrificing a perfectly good egg roll?" There was no hiding the mirth in her voice. He didn't trust himself to answer. She passed her second egg roll across the table to him, and picked up a fork from the cutlery container in the centre of the table and handed that to him too. He laughed. It was a refreshing sound.  
  
"I've missed you." he said simply.  
  
"Yeah." she replied quietly. "I've missed you too."  
  
It hung there for a moment between them, and then crashed down into the wall that had grown up between them over the last few months, reducing it to rubble. They began to talk as they hadn't in weeks. They spoke of science and music, of cases and the days at Harvard. The flow of conversation was easy, not forced as it had been of late, and they talked of everything and anything that entered their minds.  
  
People always thought that Gil Grissom was not a people person. That he couldn't make rational conversation with those around him. This was simply not true. What he couldn't do was talk to people who didn't share his interests. Sara Sidle did, and it was as easy as that. But then, people often said that Sara Sidle wasn't much of a people person either. Perhaps that was why they found it so easy to communicate with each other.  
  
It was strange, Sara thought, that a few hours ago she had been throwing things around the break room, and recovering from a hangover she was reasonably certain Catherine had given her on purpose. Now, here she was reunited with, well with Grissom. She wasn't sure what else to call him at the moment. None of the conventional titles seemed to work at the moment. She realized suddenly that she has been awake for almost 18 hours, which was a stretch, even for her. She yawned.  
  
"Are you alright?" Grissom asked.  
  
"Yes." she replied sleepily. "I'm just feeling a little.distracted."  
  
"Me too."  
  
Smiling really did get easier with practice.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
A.N. Well, that's the longest story without a plot (ie case) I have ever attempted. How did I do? 


End file.
